


Crowns, Not Halos

by SnowCoveredObsidian



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Dancing, Dreams, Fatherly Gents, Fatherly!Ryan, Fighting, God why, Grumpy Michael, I'll continue it if it seems good, Legends, M/M, Pack Dynamics, R&R Connection - Freeform, Silly Gavin, Slight Hierarchy, Superpowers (it's complicated), Swearing, Wingfic, Wings Verse, achievement hunter - Freeform, mentions of bullying, not that kind perverts, ray and ryan cutenessssss yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowCoveredObsidian/pseuds/SnowCoveredObsidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael had a dream once. A dream of a voice that told him his wings would grow to be magnificent, the envy of many. That it would take the words of one and the actions of another.</p><p>Too bad that dream gave him the middle finger and he woke up with wings so tiny he swore they were made of cotton balls.</p><p>Of course he'd get made fun of for them. That's why he got so angry. Because the dream that only a chosen few get decided to lie to his face.</p><p>When Michael meets another person like him by the name of Gavin Free, it starts to shift. Maybe dreams don't have to be kept as tales for children.</p><p>Maybe, one day, he too will fly. (Now with a heavy dose of adorable fluffy R&R Connection)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Was It A Dream?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first fic on here! It's unbeta'd too so watch out for my nasty grammar, run-ons, and horrible spelling!
> 
> Enjoy the fic! <3

Michael was six years old when he had The Precursor.

A Dream that very few humans got. A Dream that told you that your wings had the potential to grow into the most magnificent wings of all. Not the normal dream one got when their wings first revealed themselves to their owner. The most important sort of Dream regarding wings.

It started with a tingling all around his body, head to toe, as if he was feeling himself sprout feathers that brushed and vibrated against his much too-sensitive skin as he sat at his desk in English. The tingling turned ticklish, and laughter bubbled from him, so happy and gleeful and long-lasting that he giggled his way through most of the day, even with a hand clamped over his mouth and his maths teacher giving him a curious, yet uneasy look. She had turned back to her chalkboard covered in equations as soon as the auburn-haired boy had given her a wide grin and thumbs-up, but kept looking back every time he snorted to fix him with a stare that made everyone else look back at him.

Of course, when the tingling and tickling turned to an uncomfortable, constant burning, the laughter stopped and no longer was the sensation fun anymore. He got sent home later that day with a fever and his balance thrown in limbo, so bad that it felt as if the world kept tilting all around him, even if he laid down. He had cried and tossed his covers off the bed as fever-sleep claimed him, body shaking and back rippling with energy and tension, just waiting to be released.

His mother mopped the sweat from his brow with a cool cloth, kissing his nose and cheeks gently with murmured promises of it all being over soon, that it would all be okay. When he finally hit the Vision stage, hours later it seemed, his mother let out a sigh, eyes flicking over his form as it quieted into soft shivering and occasional twitching. His face, no longer contorted into a grimace, had relaxed into a calm, soft pout, gentle breaths leaving his nose in murmured huffs. With her son resting easy, Mrs. Jones herself settled down into a comfortable chair by her son's bedside, fingers combing lightly through his hair while one of her tawny wings draped down to brush against his leg. She knew she'd be in for a long wait, and that she had to wait to ensure that her son slumbered peacefully through the Vision he was currently experiencing.

You see,The Vision had three possible outcomes.

One: a simple dream, one that was short and plain.This one would indicate that your wings would be normal, nothing special and entirely ordinary. These take the duration of a full night's sleep before the dreamer can wake, sporting a new, fluffy pair of wings ready to be preened.

Two: a more complex dream, much longer and with more feeling behind it. These dreams tended to last for about an hour to a half-day longer than the simple dream. These indicate wings that are much less ordinary (translucent feathers, pinions, extra feathers down the back/up into the hair, etc.). People with these sorts of wings were usually known as "Cheru." Yes, like cherubs.

Three: the most complex dreams of all,called Precursors and associated only with "Sera," revered persons whose wings are described as those of true angels.Unlike their two counterparts, these dreams can take anywhere from a day to three before the dreamer can finally awaken. The dream is complex in that it mostly works in the way of flashes and color and so many things going on at once that trying to find any sort of focus is nigh-impossible. They are described by the "blessed" few that have had them as if they were going through tiny, fragmented snippets of their lives and those of everyone they knew hundreds of times over in the span of blurry, colorful minutes. You see everything and nothing and just as you think you finally get a grasp on something, it slips away with a laugh and a smile and leaves you snatching at a thousand other somethings.

These "snippets" are intended to show you what you need to look for in order to unlock the true potential of your wings. Be it love, or family, or practically anything, even to just "be yourself." Of course, some of these dreams came with the added bonus of someone actually telling you what to look for.

Like Michael's.

His came in a voice that made him think instantly of his mother, but it was older, wiser. It made his attention snap to the fore, and all he could hear was the reverent voice in his head, all around him, in his very bones and bloodstream, an angelic warmth coating the words like honey on freshly-baked bread.

It said to him, imprinting into his memory so deeply he could feel the words dancing in his finger tips.

_Look for one who is you, one who is more than meets the eye. Words will unite, and actions bring light. Look for one who is YOU. One who is more than meets the eye._

The words turned over in the young one's head, confusing him, yet filling him with sheer awe as he slowly awoke, head tumbling and churning with the garbled mish-mash of what had happened in his dream. He blinked blearily at the blurred outlines of his bedroom furniture, feeling a steady brushing of something warm and soft against his leg. The face of his mother, slowly clearing as he adjusted to being awake, peered into view over him, smiling softly down at him and brushing his slick curls out of his eyes. In an instant, his mouth was open, vision sharpening as words tumbled from him, describing to her everything he saw and felt and when he finished with a great "whoosh" and a thump back on his pillows, his mother let her smile grow. One tawny wing rested over his hand, rubbing its downy softness into his fingers, trembling with a quiet excitement.

"My little bird...you're a Sera."

Michael's jaw almost fell off his face. Almost.

\---------------

Of course, no one ever told Michael of one of the downsides to being a Sera. Only the good, only how everyone would treat you with respect and adoration and kindness. Of how your wings would be more beautiful than a Cheru's ten times over and then some!

...Of _course_ , no one told Michael of the possibility that he'd wake up with the _tiniest_ pair of wings he'd ever seen in his whole life. He swore up and down that this was a joke, some prank concocted by his friends. He kept telling himself that they were made of cotton balls and tooth picks and were stuck to his back as a joke to make him feel better about being so different. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

He wished they weren't his wings. He wished he could stick his cotton balls on someone else and laugh for an eternity over such a clever trick.

Of course, he didn't say that to the other kids when they invited him to play, all fluttering about with their puffy wings that were barely capable of holding them up. No, he'd stick on the ground, with the kids who couldn't fly yet, looking longingly at the sky when no one else could see.

Of course, he didn't say that to the bullies that caught him with his shirt off when he changed for gym class. They laughed at him and blabbed to every one how much of a "chick" he was, how his wings couldn't even lift an egg. He hid his shame beneath furrowed brows and steely eyes.

Over time, the words and stabs at his _embarrassments_  got worse, and knit brows turned to angry frowns, while steely eyes lit alight with rage.

His friends all faded away, choosing to go be friends with those who weren't so goddamn angry all the time. He really couldn't blame them; who would really want to be seen with such an embarrassment like him? Fuck them, he could find better friends, he told himself when his vocabulary expanded into the swears department. 

When his mouth finally learned it could open up and use his words to let out his frustrations (note: swearing like a motherfucker) at a volume and harshness that would send the worst of the bullies away, if not his wicked right hook doing the trick, he embraced it;and with it, the words and hurt finally stopped shouting at him from down the hall or across the field. The laughter at his problem stopped all together, turning into whispers that became silence whenever he made his presence known. Any who tried to get in his face ended up at the nurse with bloodied noses or split lips with no explanation other than "stairs." 

Through it all, he told his mother barely any of what happened, or his father. They wouldn't understand, they weren't _special_ like he was. Though, they had an inkling of their son's unhappiness; they saw it in the way he carried himself, how his shoulders seemed to lower when something unsettled him, how he stood taller when he thought he heard an angry tone. They saw his jaw set itself when they asked about school, the forced smiles, but no matter how much they talked, Michael wouldn't, settling for shutting himself in his room and shouting at his gaming consoles.

Which was how he got to Rooster Teeth.

Which was how he got to be a part of Achievement Hunter.

Which was how he crossed paths with Gavin _Fucking Idiot_ Free and almost strangled him.


	2. Welcome To The Office (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael meets Geoff...
> 
> Is this the start of something new?
> 
> ...(i.e. I got too lazy and made this a two-parter because my brain said lolnope)
> 
> EDIT: OOPS I POSTED THIS EARLY BY ACCIDENT FUCK MY LIFE.

Michael sighed deeply as he looked up at the Rooster Teeth office, his new work space, feeling energy flowing out of the many wide, bright windows and practically bursting from anyone and everyone who walked out of the front doors in the form of bright, lively smiles on their faces and happy waves of both wings and hands as they saw him. Though some had raised eyebrows at his appearance (it had to be his wings, he was sure of it), most continued onward in favor of lunch or just a breath of fresh air. Some took to the air seconds after leaving the doors with a whoop and a holler, obviously enjoying the Austin sun and all its hellish, burning glory. 

It wasn't something he and his little cottonballs were accustomed to. The warm brown shoulders of his wings sucked in heat like sponges, shooting it out to his electric blue primaries and secondaries to make it feel like they too were melting. They didn't appreciate it much; they flared out as dramatically as they could for being about the size of a small crow's...i.e. not much. The only part of his wings that didn't feel like they were about ready to burn themselves alive were his pinions, the only part of his wings he could truly appreciate. The gradient pair, going from a soft, sunny yellow to a fierce, angry red almost immediately, hung down his lower back past his hips and thoroughly enjoyed being roasted alive. If anything, this heat was nothing to them; they ran at a constant, consistent warmth that was surprisingly helpful in the winter time, where an occasional ruffle of his cottonballs would bring him near-instantaneous warmth that turned his blanket burritos into a pleasant, toasty oven. 

But now was not the time for an oven. Now was the time for air-conditioning and wishing the tops of his wings were made of ice or some shit like that.

Of course, flapping his wings gave him a marginal cool down, but no where near what a quick flight would have done. He looked wistfully as a bespectacled man with maroon wings took off in front of him. His large, powerful wings enabled him to climb towards the clouds faster that Michael ever could, and he couldn't help but let a little jealousy settle in his belly with razor sharp talons and a mouth full of angry, spiteful teeth. It got the pot of rage simmering in the back of his mind, brow furrowing and nose wrinkling in contempt at his wings inability to do anything. 

'Pfft, what a load of shit. I'll never fly with these things.' He thought with a dark grimace, his wings ruffling in a half-flap, half-flail of discontent. Continuing to glare at the clouds the maroon-winged man disappeared into, he didn't even realize that he had company until fingers rapidly snapped right in front of his nose. Nearly jumping out of his skin, the Jersey boy fixed the owner of the offending hand with a burning stare. His company, a gentleman at least a head taller than him and with massive wings tucked against his back, only stared at him curiously, one eyebrow raised and one of his tattooed hands waving lightly in front of Michael's face.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The hand kept waving until Michael growled and carefully smacked it away with his own, causing the owner to let out a loud guffaw and his wings to flare out slightly. "Ah-ha! I knew it! It's not empty as dicks in your head!" He grinned beneath his well-groomed mustache, the formerly waving hand now outstretched towards the New Jersey man for a handshake. "You must be Michael! I'm Geoff Ramsey, and it's awesome as dicks to finally meet you!" 

One of Michael's brows raised, corner of his mouth twitching into a pleased smirk as his smaller hand was enveloped in Geoff's own with a shake and a "Yep, I'm Michael. Nice to meet you, Geoff."

Unable to help himself, the New Jerseyan let his eyes travel up Geoff's arm, appreciating the body art that decorated the skin even as it disappeared under his dark t-shirt only to reappear on his snow white wings and-

Wait a fucking **goddamn** minute.

_Did this guy tattoo his fucking wings?!?_

Geoff must have noticed him staring, no, gawking (and probably heard Michael's thoughts because his brain's volume cranked to at least a hundred). He had to have, because the appendages stretched out further, almost to their full, absolutely massive span. Now, Michael could see black flecks interspersed throughout the white insides, and a much wider smattering of black on the tops when one of them curled over. He further noted how, when the sun caught on Geoff's primary feathers, they were translucent, catching the light and scattering it over the black lines that curled and traced down the feathers much like veinwork on the wings of dragonflies. His jealousy flared a little in his belly, a soft simmer that crept into his mind and threatened to spit out venom.

He let a deep, shaky sigh escape through his nose, hoping it would cut the burn of venom down to a more reasonable, less toxic level. It didn't, and he mentally prepared himself for his brain-to-mouth filter to short-circuit and for everything to go to shit. He could only hope that the heat in his stomach settled enough so that the lashing out he'd surely give wouldn't cost him the job...but it probably would.

Geoff's voice cut through the jealousy with a sort of gentle chill that eased the simmer his mind had put itself on," Pretty cool, eh? Everyone thinks these are Sera's wings, but they're not. I woke up in less than a day with these guys," his wings flapped a little," No special visions, no crazy business. Cheru, through and through." The older man beamed, letting his wings curl back towards his body again. Then he leaned forwards, his eyes quickly taking in Michael's own wings, which were now stretched to their full span of not-very-much-at-all. Geoff hummed thoughtfully, one hand scrubbing lightly at his beard. "I remember your file saying you were a Sera, but I gotta say..."

Michael's gut wrenched and the heat inside of it grew. Yep, he should really buy the plane ticket for New Jersey, or the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere now and just light all of the stuff he brought with him on fire. Throw it on the interstate, maybe. Or stand in the middle of the interstate amongst all of it and hope he got hit by a tractor trailer. _Here we fucking go. The shitty pity party or some fucking shit of how they suck and-_

"Yours look a hell of a lot better than Gavin's did. I'm sure you'll hear all about it later when you meet him," Geoff chuckled, the sound, and his comment of someone having had _much_ shittier wings than his made the jealousy instantly flatline. He puffed a bit at that, the bright yellow insides of his wings practically beaming as he flared them and gave a few light, happy flaps. An equally bright smile bloomed across Geoff's face, his taller body turning towards the front doors of the Rooster Teeth office as his own wings flapped a bit.

"Come on, kiddo. You have to meet the rest of the chucklefucks. They've been dying to meet you, especially Gavin."

Michael could only smile and nod. "Thanks man. I'm already feeling pretty excited to meet them too." He strode forwards, opening the door for the older man with an, "after you," that had Geoff lifting a hand to his chest and exaggeratedly swooning over his manners in a voice that had the gamer laughing heartily. 

This was already turning out better than he had hoped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to fight me on the descriptions of the wings for the crew (in the future), I'm all for opinions. :D
> 
> I personally like Geoff's wings though, so good luck fighting me on that one. :)
> 
> I'm more at odds with Ray's and Jack's, but everybody else is fairly cemented....
> 
> Again, drop a comment if you have any ideas!! :D
> 
> Also also, sorry for short :(


	3. Welcome To The Office (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael meets the main body of the Achievement Hunters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm so sorry for the wait on this  
> i was really slow  
> but enjoy this huge (in my book)chapter  
> i really suck at writing people who aren't my original characters  
> oops
> 
> By the way, I love the idea of pack dynamics, so if y'all think I should go a little deeper into that in my wings verse, I guess I can do something about that. :)
> 
> (I can only blame A/B/O stuff...oh and Emono. Go read their shit. It's great. guuuuuuuh)

Michael was spinning from his quick tour of the office with Geoff - both literally and metaphorically.

This place was so different from any other place he had worked at. Everyone mingled freely. There were no Seras with their greedy thumbs in their over-sized belts and with sticks up their asses hogging the top seats of power. There were no Cherus trying to get in tight with the big boys, not caring who they hurt in their way to get to the top or how they got there. No Norms slumping around as they were overloaded with work and simply struggling just to get through the day and not freak out at their nearest cubicle companion or do something irreparable .

Here, he saw a Sera learning how to properly edit a video from a group of Norms. He saw a large group of all three classes leaving for lunch, wings all fluttery and bustling with readiness for flight and food. He saw smiles on almost every face that walked by, and more often than not, got a friendly wave or two, with Geoff occasionally getting stopped for a conversation that allowed Michael to better examine his new workplace.

Michael felt unity here, permeating the air and filling it with carefree laughter and warmth. It vibrated in his bones and made the excitement to work at Rooster Teeth keep growing. While Geoff was locked in conversation with the burgundy winged man Michael had seen earlier, he saw a group of interns, a healthy mix of Cherus and Norms, watching something with their backs all turned to him. The gamer noticed how their wings all touched and seemed to lock with each other in a way that felt so warm and intimate that he wanted to be a part of it.

It felt like being _home_.

It made his fingers twitch and pull at the sleeves of the hoodie he wore. The soft material wasn't enough.

He wanted the comfort of the circle of wings and arms and laughter he saw before him. It was something he'd never really had the opportunity to be a part of growing up (see: anger issues, lack of brain to mouth filter, being a Sera, etc.)

He'd never really had friends to be that close with. Yet, here, in front of him, practically filling every crack and crevice, was everything he'd ever wanted. 

'You mean besides this job?' his mind supplied and he sighed loudly, trying to ignore the wash of annoyance he felt. Better not kill his good mood now while he still had it.

Apparently, his want (or maybe it was his overly obnoxious sigh) was prominent enough to be noticed by one of the interns, for one with short brown hair and slate gray wings peppered with black looked up to stare at him. His gray eyes widened at Michael, lips parting in a small 'o' in surprise. The others were so engrossed in whatever they were watching that they didn't notice one of their number rustling excitedly and blinking owlishly at Michael. 

'Hard workers,' he thought, nodding slightly and allowing a sliver of a smile to crease his face.

The kid then waved at him, smiling widely. His hand turned slightly, fingers curling and uncurling in such a manner to indicate that he wanted Michael to come join the group huddled around monitors.

The offer (and the kindness on the kid's face) had Michael's heart thudding in his chest. He started forwards, the gamer almost tripping over his own feet after barely making two steps. 

He'd never been offered to join a wing circle. Now he was being offered. It was something he wanted, so much he almost forgot that he was still on his first day here and that he had a lot more to do and explore before he could settle down for a circle like the one before him. He forgot that there would be time; honestly there was so much stuff going on in his head that he was surprised he'd managed to be as mentally sound as he was. 

So of course he remembered that he really needed to slow down and just get through the first day. That there would be time for everything else later. 

Then he also remembered the second, and much more physical, reason why he was spinning and having his thought process turned into the mental equivalent of a ping pong ball when he practically collided into it.

Also known as Geoff deciding that it was suddenly the perfect opportunity to shake the kid out of the pseudo-trance he had been in with a swipe of a wing right in front of his face that almost had Michael eating feathers. The New Jersey boy tasted their whiskey-barrel musk on the tip of his tongue as Geoff's secondaries hung before his nose. He nearly spit as it settled unpleasantly on his tongue, settling for wrinkling his nose and leaning back a bit with a series of slow, steady blinks. 

'I'm going to be smelling that for WEEKS,' he thought the moment after it hit him, feeling it burn into his nose and deep into his memory. Maybe he should carry a can of Febreeze around with him if Geoff kept having this habit of putting his wings in the gamer's mouth. That way he might actually be able to enjoy Jack Daniel's the next time he had it.

He blinked furiously as he reeled back a little, head turning so he could throw a glare right at Geoff, but the man's smile was so apologetic and warm that his gaze softened a moment later. 

"Sorry about that. That was Gus Sorola. He's pretty busy at the moment, so he just stopped by to say hello. He greeted you too, but you seemed a bit absorbed," he said, looking at the bespectacled man that was now retreating from them purposefully. Michael envied his wings, definitely smaller than Geoff's, but such a lovely shade of maroon that he'd swear it could have only come out of a vintage bottle brewed in ancient oak barrels found only in the most secluded of Italian vineyards. The shoulders of Gus's wings were the deepest, almost black, while his wingtips were almost cranberry-colored. Michael's nose caught a hint of his scent, clinging to Geoff (their wings must have brushed a bit) and it reminded him of blueberry ale...

Or maybe it was pie? He couldn't really tell, at least not over the ashes of dead ol' Jack sitting pretty in his nose.

(He could really use that Febreeze right about now. It was definitely coming out of his next paycheck, for sure.)

"That's alright," Michael huffed, shaking his head and looking back at Geoff, "just make sure you warn a brother before you try to snatch their head off their shoulders with those." He said it with a gesture at Geoff's wings, to which the other looked playfully offended.

"Michael, please. Everyone loves these," the elder said, dramatically flaring his wings and lifting his chin. Rolling his eyes at the display, Michael looked back at the group of interns to find the one with slate gray wings about to return to his work. The group was dispersing, some making motions to go get food and/or coffee, others looking to get back to work. The one that caught Michael's gaze made an apologetic motion, one that read 'next time, okay?' and affirmed that, yes, there would be a next time with a thumbs-up. 

Michael raised his own, the motion catching Geoff's eye and bringing a smile to the older man's face when he looked to see who it was directed towards. "Making friends already, kid?" He leaned in, one wing raising and hand covering his mouth slightly so he could murmur, "you'll do great here kid. I just know it." Michael's heart warmed, mouth opening to thank the gentleman, but was stopped when he had to dodge the other's huge wings as he spun around. His face almost met butter yellow feathers again, to which he cursed aloud and made Geoff guffaw when he delivered a gentle punch to the center of the tattooed man's back.

("What did I tell you about warning a brother, asshole?!" "Oh, sorry didn't see you there!" "I know you saw me there, you were just talking to me!" "Really now?")

One loud groan of "Geoff," a round of punches, and a headlock (featuring Noogie and his cousin Hair Ruffle) later and the two were finally heading to the Achievement Hunter office, one of Geoff's ~~abhorrent-smelling~~ wings pressed against Michael's own.

And if Michael leaned into them just to burn that horrible scent further into his memory, or Geoff curl the edge of his wing around Michael's shoulder a little, neither man said nothing, choosing only to continue purposefully onward toward the AH office.

\-------------

Michael breathed deeply as he stood before the door to Achievement Hunter. He could hear the muffled laughter of the gang's other members, all waiting for him.

'For me,' he thought, and it made his heart start racing again in his chest. A swell of pride in himself, in what he had accomplished, overcame him, and he felt his body lean upwards, standing just a little bit taller. There was a slight press against his back that reminded him that Geoff was there, as well as a large hand now firmly resting on his shoulder. The hand left moments later to grab the doorknob and twist it slightly, just enough that it could be pushed open without so much as a light push from the Cheru holding the knob. 

"Ready, kiddo?" Michael nodded, vision filling with bright light as the door opened. He blinked away the brightness, able to look at his new, official workspace after only a moment. The room before him was small, but packed to the gills with stuff. Desks against the two side walls, a couch, and games. Everywhere.

He couldn't even begin to think about everything else in the space because suddenly, he was being ushered in and greeted by three men all occupying different areas of the room and Geoff's loud "hey," from behind him.

"Hey there!" "Hey bro!" "Hello."

The 'hey there' came from a desk on the westerly side of the room, from a bearded man with a warm face and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Warm amber wings flared out behind him, large and well-kept, with very downy shoulders. Small flecks of black dotted his primaries, and when he turned, their insides were the color of milky coffee. The Norm (as far as Michael could tell, with the lack of pinions or anything relatively special in terms of wing class) outstretched his hand, which the New Jersey gamer firmly clasped. The handshake was warm and gentle, almost parallel to how Geoff greeted him, and eased the Jersey boy's nerves enough so he could properly smile. It was promptly returned, and answered with a soft rustle of wings (did someone just set a pot of coffee on while he wasn't looking or something?) and a, "Jack Pattillo. You must be Michael!"

Feeling playful, he responded, "I should hope so," which was met with a hearty laugh and a nod. "Well met. Pleasure to meet you." Michael nodded, returning the statement with equal fervor only to be tapped on the shoulder by someone else's wing.

Turning to face the source, he found himself met with another friendly face, beaming and bespectacled, with a darker shade of skin than most of the other people he had met. He knew instantly who this was and it made him smile.

"Hey Ray," he grinned, and the answering one in return had him bringing the other forwards into a bro hug that had the smell of wild roses etching itself into his memory. He'd watched enough of the other's videos to know who he was (not that he didn't know who the other members of Achievement Hunters were), and had become an avid fan of the New Yorker's work. 

"Hey Michael," Ray greeted, stepping back from the hug to let his wings flare and flap excitedly. They were a dramatic, flashy red on the inside, well-preened like Jack's and vibrant enough that the Jersey gamer would swear they were glowing. He couldn't see their backs, but knew from some of Ray's videos that the backs of his wings were a glossy black. His primaries are streaked with white that practically glows, and he has two sets of pinions, long, and both completely different in color. The one's closest to Ray's back are the shorter of the two (only by a little) and healthy leafy green that ended in a rosy red. The other, in contrast, was a solid black with white inside and two teardrop shapes on the bottom, set almost like eye-holes in a mask (maybe that was where all the Tuxedo Mask jokes came from?) and, like practically everything else about Ray's wings, glowing.

Michael would have to ask the Cheru his secret to that later.

"Pleasure to meet you, bro," Ray said, settling his wings back against his shoulders and stepping forwards a little so Geoff could pass behind him and settle at his own desk. Geoff's wings brushed the Puerto Rican's as he passed and Michael's nose wrinkled as a brief hint of over-fermented roses hit him. "You too," he managed to get out without a hitch, his own wings fluttering a little.

This was going so well already that he still wasn't sure if this was a dream or not. 

(Then again, it probably was, considering his luck.)

Turning so he could face the final person in the room, he was met with a broad smile, equally broad chest, and golden wings mottled with black and white that hung behind their owner like a cape. As they curled forwards, the Norm's large wings caught the light, scattering over the golden feathers and catching the warm copper hues he couldn't see before. How these could possibly be the wings of a Norm (they were much too beautiful and definitely large for the class) astounded him, but Michael knew to expect the unexpected. Especially here. Especially while standing here shaking the hand of a gentleman who looked like he was wearing the most regal cloak imaginable.

'The cloak of a king,' he thought to himself, reaching out to take the hand already offered to him in a shake.

He looked up into the face of the Norm, letting his eyes rove over the swept back hair and calm smile etched into his face before letting their his eyes meet the other's.

"Ryan Haywood, pleasure to meet you Michael," Ryan dipped his chin a little, warm gaze meeting Michael's and holding it. A small twitch of Ryan's regal wings had him smelling nothing but honey and vanilla, so light and sweet and delightful. He felt tingly warm, settling into the handshake with a happy little sight that had Ryan laughing softly, yet sheepishly as Michael mumbled something about it being nice to meet the Georgia man. 

"Sorry about that, it happens to everyone," the Norm chuckled, patting Michael gently on the shoulder, "you should have seen it when Gavin first met me. Probably one of the funniest things I've seen. You'd think he met the Queen of England herself..."

Speaking of Gavin...Michael couldn't help but look around.

Where was he?

He didn't realize he had voiced it until Ray piped up, "probably still in the air," which dragged a loud groan out of Ryan. At Michael's raised eyebrow, Ryan murmured "you'll find out later," and got a proper answer out of Jack with a, "he went out to grab us lunch a while ago, so he should be back at any minute." 

As if on cue, a large shadow cut in front of the two windows on the far side of the room, effectively cutting off all of the natural light coming in through the mesh blinds. 

Then, there was a rather loud knock that started on one window, then went to the other...and back again.

Geoff sighed, wiping his hand over his face and groaning aloud. "Goddammit Gavin...," he said as he got up from his desk to move the blinds and open a window. A large bag was flung into the Cheru's hands with a series of squawks from whoever was outside. Then, a figure started climbing in _through_ the window. Large wings came flapping in through the window after him, settling excitedly against his back after a few flaps that scattered papers and knocked things over. More groans of "goddammit" followed, to which the figure chuckled, heavy with British accent and lifting himself up off the ground. 

"Got lunch, sorry for the delay," he called, throwing his arms out and stretching a bit. A lopsided grin creased his face beneath a prominent nose. Stubble covered his chin and jawline, leading up into wind-tousled hair that the Brit avoided styling back into shape, favoring to continue stretching and letting his shirt ride up. 

"You know, we have something called a 'door,' Gavin," Ray said, unwrapping a burger after he tossed one Michael's way with a soft 'wasn't sure what you liked, so we got you the boring ones.' Gavin huffed and looked at Ray indignantly, one wing stretching out to bop the Puerto Rican lightly on the back of his head. "I felt like coming in through the window today. Felt like a more direct delivery was in order!" Then, he seemed to realize that the room had one extra body than it normally did and turned to regard Michael with owlishly wide eyes and parted lips. "Oh!"

Geoff nodded, "Gavin, go easy on him. This is Michael. The new kid we're taking on. I think he'll be a perfect fit for the gang." Though Geoff had a slight edge of annoyance to his tone, Michael knew it was directed at Gavin. Maybe the Brit had a bad habit of scaring off potential new hires?

"I know Geoff, I know," Gavin said, getting right up close to Michael and looking at him in a way that made Michael feel like he was being looked at under a microscope. It was unsettling, feeling Gavin's intense gaze boring into him enough to make him swallow uncomfortably. 

Then Gavin breathed in his face and Michael jumped at least ten feet in the air, growling and scrubbing at his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. His reaction was met with Geoff hissing "Gavin!" and the aforementioned Brit falling in the chair at the desk right in front of the door. He was clutching at his stomach in laughter, wings draping over the chair like a massive blanket while he laughed, long and hard. 

Michael's anger went from near zero to pushing every button on the fucking planet in seconds.

He really couldn't care that Gavin's wings were the most brilliant shade of white on the inside. He couldn't care how they started forest green on top, turned to a vibrant green all the way to the secondaries. He wouldn't be bothered by the fact that his primary feathers were so bright they glowed. No, really. Each feather was glowing like a light bulb.

No, what really pissed off Michael was that this fucking idiot thought it was funny to get in his space and unnerve him like that. What really had his blood boiling was the pair of pinions hanging from Gavin's wings to drape all over the floor like individual scarves hanging from his wings. What really had his gaze hardening was how the pinions were constantly changing color before his eyes, going through all shades of green in waves that reminded Michael of a constantly moving game of Tetris. What really had his brow furrowing was how the pinions seemed to twitch and quiver, like a pair of tails attached to a complete idiot of a mutt that didn't know when to shut up. What really had his teeth gritting hard in his mouth to the point where he could almost feel them crack in his bones was the fact that this asshole didn't just have one pair of wings.

_He had two._

_This capital-A ASSHOLE truly was a goddamn Sera._

_And he was just like all the others ._

Gavin's second pair of wings popped out through the open arms of his chair, hanging out and far enough that their tips brushed the floor. The pinions curled and pooled all about the wheels of his chair, looking so much more like scarves than the pinions of any other Cheru or Sera, forming a sort of pinion puddle that Michael really just wanted to tie in a knot, then to the chair, then through the idiot out the window.

"You must be Gavin," he managed to grit out, catching Geoff's worried gaze and the mouthed 'I'm so sorry' the other gave him, which he quickly shrugged off. The chuckles from Gavin finally died after a few swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and his gaze returned to the Jersey boy..

"And you must be the Rage Quit guy...um...Michael Jones! Goddammit man! I'm surprised you haven't thrown me out the window yet! Bloody hell!"

The words came out of Michael's mouth before he could bite them back, "that's because this window's not high enough to throw you out of. I need at least another twenty thousand stories for your fucking ass, dipshit." His words only served to have the Brit start laughing all over again, the laughter seeming to be warm and hearty, but only serving to curl unpleasantly in Michael's stomach.

"Dammit, you are the real thing. This is brilliant! Oh it's going to be so much fun having you around! It's gonna be great, really! Oh, man. Sorry to scare you so bad. Really!" Gavin extended out a hand to him, his laughter settling as a small smile curled on his face. It was much too warm for Michael's liking, and the urge to rip his belt off and strangle the Brit with it was still simmering in his gut. The Brit's gaze was friendly now, eyes apologetic, cheeks reddened from laughter.

It only served to make Michael sigh and take the Brit's hand with a tiny shake, a forced smile, and an, "oh I believe you, Gavin." 

"Really?," Gavin's wings perked, lifting and stretching up, then outwards, just a little. Michael's nose was filled with the scent of a quiet cafe in the middle of a cool fall afternoon. The scent of tea, at least a dozen different kinds, went in all directions; he caught a hint of earl grey, a little bit of mint, a hearty toss of spices from all over the globe and a dash of cinnamon, clove, apple. He could practically taste fresh fruit tarts, perfectly baked madeleines, fruit-filled scones as they were set out for the evening rush. He got a hint of vanilla, and could even feel a drop of honey hit his tongue. If he closed his eyes, he'd think he was sitting right outside the little cafe, watching the traffic go by on a quiet London side street. A warm mug of tea right before him and a warm, already half-eaten tart off to the side. 

It felt comfortable. Like somewhere he'd already been a thousand times before and never got tired of. Somewhere he loved to go, be it on a quiet afternoon or a busy early morning. Or maybe just a quick little stop on the way back home. A little pre-dinner treat, well-deserved after a long day's work.

_Isn't this what they call the "home away from home" feeling?_

Of course, he couldn't give Gavin the satisfaction of relaxing him almost immediately after narrowly avoiding sending him into a rage, so he concluded with a "yeah. Really." He let go of Gavin's hand to go behind his chair and place his hands on the Sera's shoulders, tapping on them for a moment before affirming the idea he had in his head. Approval: yes. "Actually, you know what?"

Gavin's brow furrowed and Michael's eye caught the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, ignoring the sheepish smile thrown his way. Did he figure it out already? Better make this quick... "What, Michael?

"You might want to lift your pinions off the floor. I have a tendency to move around a bit and I don't want to accidentally run them over on my very first day," he said as sweetly as possible, something that made the Brit look at him in surprise and amazement. Bending down a little, Gavin lifted the unique feathers carefully so they now sat in his chair, looking back up at the New Jersey boy with a goofy grin. "Thanks, Michael!"

The gamer's mouth almost dropped open. There's no possible way he could be _this_ gullible...Oh well.

"No problem...oh, and one more thing..." Before Gavin could even open his mouth, Michael used all the strength he had to shove the other Serah (in his chair) out the door into the tiled hallway. He wouldn't admit that he was glad that the wheels missed running over the Brit's pinions, not in a million years, but would certainly admit that he was happy to see that he had flung the Brit farther than he thought he could. 

"Enjoy time out for me, will you?" He said, shutting the door and locking it on the obnoxious Brit now stuck outside the room. Moments later, Michael heard the faint scrabbles of the Sera scooting his way back to the door, then a soft thud as the Brit's knees hit the door, followed by a quiet knock. The knock stopped after about a minute; Gavin had obviously figured out that Michael wasn't letting him back in. Possibly for the rest of the day.

He expected Gavin to fight to get back in, trying to placate him, anything and everything to get back in. He even expected a little whine or two, or for him to start saying his name in that stupid accent of his in the hopes that being an annoying little bitch would pressure Michael into letting him back in the office.

What the New Jersey Sera didn't expect was the soft thud of presumably Gavin's head against the door, followed by a barely-there chuckle and a murmuring of words. Laced in the smell of tea and biscuits were words that made the furrow in Michael's brow soften ever so slightly.

"Guess I deserved that, huh?" Michael could see the Brit's half-smile through the door now. He could feel a pull at his heart that made him grimace a little.

'Just five minutes with the guy and he's already implanted in my memory, Jesus Christ,' he thought with a drag of his hand over his face. It tugged at his heart in a way that made him edgy, shifting slightly so that now he too was pressed against the door. 

"...Yeah...I guess you did."

The soft chuckle and murmured apology that followed was probably the only thing that kept Michael from strangling the idiot with his belt on the day that he met him. 

Probably.

"Hey, you know, thanks for the show. Wasn't expecting that to come with lunch," Ray said, which garnered chuckles out of the other Achievement Hunters.

And one, not-serious-at-all groan of, "Ray, shut the hell up."


	4. Dynamic Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flock dynamics and cute
> 
> (added some cute mavin scent fluff at the beginning)
> 
> (and now some r&r connection)
> 
> i kinda forgot about wings on this one but that;s okay

Michael was quickly absorbed into the fabric of Achievement Hunter. Within a couple of weeks, he was going out to lunch with them nearly constantly and occasionally hanging out after work . Only when Rage Quit backed him up did he not join them for afternoon food runs, and it was always met with a pout or a pull on his arm. Sometimes, though, he was dragged out...with protest.

One time, Gavin managed to drag him all of the way out of the office and into the parking lot, while the Jersey boy was holding onto his office chair for dear life and screeching at the Brit to bring him back inside or so help him, he would use the Brit for an umbrella the next time a thunderstorm rolled through. That had stopped that really quick, abruptly enough to send Michael flying out of his chair.

Of course, Michael reacted the best way he knew how; by chasing Gavin all over the parking lot until he tackled the Brit and gave him a sound thumping. 

Gavin had bruises for days after that, and Geoff a little dismayed, but it had been smoothed over with a bottle of whiskey (actually two) for his tattooed boss and a wing comb for Gavin that featured two sets of teeth for dealing with everything from the most stubborn of downy feathers to hard-to-straighten flight feathers...and of course, everything in between. He'd gotten a huge hug from the Brit for that one, Gavin's nose burying into the Jersey boy's neck and snuffling at the scent glands there rather loudly. 

(It certainly helped that he'd also paid for the other's lunch every day for two weeks. Every. Single. One.)

"You shouldn't have!" The arms around him briefly squeezed and all he could taste was that damn Earl Grey. Lemon cake swam in the background. Clove hid in a bite of spice cake, touch of vanilla in the icing. The Jersey boy's fingers twitched, wanting to rake through the down that sprouted from Gavin's shoulders. His nose itched, wanting to bury itself in the scent marker that laid so open to him on the other Sera's own neck. 

It was so easy to do it, but he couldn't. Instead, he let those thoughts dig themselves into his brain.

_Did Gavin really have to smell this goddamn good?_

"I knew you cared for me Michael," he sang, the sound vibrating up Michael's neck in a purr that made his brain pleasantly short circuit. Swallowing the pleasant feeling, he gently jabbed Gavin in the side with an elbow.

"Don't push your luck..." he muttered, earning him a coo and a pull of his sweatshirt's hood up over his hair.

~~~~~

Of course, Michael didn't realize how woven into the fabric of the gang he was until he had gone back to visit his family  in Jersey. His mother had taken one sniff of him and grinned cheekily.

"Michael, I didn't know you'd gone and gotten yourself adopted. It's a good smell on you," she said, which had Michael reddening and burying his nose in his sweatshirt. The curling tones of ancient oak barrels bled through coffee and vanilla, a hint of rose and a touch of fresh-baked something that made him start spouting explanations at his mother as fast as he could.

Of course, her words were all in jest, and she combed her own fresh basil smell into his feathers with an hour long preening. 

'A little touch of home,' she had said, which had Michael missing Jersey even more when he finally got back to Austin.

The cheers (and climbing on from Gavin and Ray) made it worth it. 

The whole time he was trapped beneath the writhing pile of Ray and Gavin, he heard his mother's last words echoing in his ears amongst the snuffling and laughter. 

_They're your flock, Michael. They'll become family to you. You'll grow to love each and every one of them. Maybe you already do...who knows? But know this._

She had leaned in as if telling him the biggest secret...and kissed him right on the forehead with a loud and obnoxious smack that had him scrunching his nose and sticking his tongue out.

 _They'll love you just as much._ She murmured into his hair.  _And you will always be one of them. One of the Flock._

Flock.  

As Ray bopped him on the forehead with his own, the word sank into his very bones, with something that had him hugging the lads tighter to him and rubbing his nose into their cheeks.

~~~~~

By definition, flock was used to describe a group of birds, or a church following. Flock was also used to describe a group of people, no matter the wing class, and worked very similarly to the pack structure used by canines.

A leader always existed, with a second in command and a sort of third in command that more or less acted as the careful watcher that kept tabs on everyone within the group. Everyone else didn't have a named place, but occasionally there was a position one slid into that made it into the very fabric of the group's workings. 

Which is where it did deviate from puppy pack dynamics. Michael was glad he actually paid attention during his psychology classes. Really helped to make sense of all this alpha dog and pecking order business.

Ha. Pecking order. Wouldn't Barbara be proud. 

Moving on. 

To start, there was the Head of the flock. A position that typically belonged to the strongest of body, and commonly held by Seras or Cherus, though that didn't mean it was rare to see a norm leading one.

If there was one person that could possibly be the Alpha of the Achievement Hunter flock, it was Geoff. The position suited him best. With his appearance to take into consideration, he had the typical makings of a leader; large wings, height, impressive build. But what really made him the Head of his flock was who he was as a person. His personality and his mirth, the way he carried himself and treated everyone around him. The way he was, the way Geoff was, was what made him the top dog.

One Michael was proud to work under.

There was only one person capable of being Geoff's Wingman, or second, and that was Jack. The two had created Achievement Hunter together out of a passion for gaming. It was only natural that the bearded man be in a position to constantly have Geoff's back. Wingmen were the right hand men of Alphas, and in case the Alpha was unable to be present with the flock in any case, the Wingman would act as the leader. Again, Jack was the perfect fit, with his calm presence, humor, and sense of purpose. He was a great man, and the Jersey boy saw just how perfect he was as the second-in-command.

There was a final position in the flock, one that, when Michael first came, couldn't entirely figure out who it belonged to.

The position in question was called the Keeper, and this position required extensive knowledge of healing/behavior, maintenance (depending on the flock's 'roost'), and other skills applicable to where the flock centralized (again with the roost thing), be it work or school or whatnot. The people that tended to hold this position were often nurses, moms (sometimes), and counselors, but really, anyone could hold the post (as long as they were a half-way decent multi-tasker). It was a post that had one constantly keeping an eye on group proceedings, watching everything like a hawk. 

Of course, the one person that fit was Ryan, and undoubtedly so. Though the man was constantly juggling what he was doing with a cup of coffee and ten million other things, the Georgia man was dedicated to the Achievement Hunter flock. He kept the office clean and tidy (for the most part), and kept everything in _perfect_ working condition. He knew his way around a first aid kit better than anyone Michael knew. His quiet, hard-working demeanor was respected by all, and his wit was a prize in and of itself. The fact that he was AH's Keeper was a godsend; who else but him could be a more perfect fit? 

Funnily enough, Ryan had his own sort of of Keeper. Ray, curiously enough, helped Ryan when the work load got a little out of hand (and it did happen in a place as hectic as Rooster Teeth), tidying a bit when the messes got too big, or acting as a pseudo-therapist when someone had an especially bad day (Michael could attest to that; the Puerto Rican's hugs were like hugging a floral marshmellow). He even took care of Ryan himself, sending him off to nap when the man started to get a little too grouchy or his eyes drooped a little too far. Ryan protested lightly, always saying he could handle himself, but the New Yorker would have none of that, only continuing to usher the man towards the couch or door for some fresh air. A fresh cup of coffee was never far behind if the Cheru thought it was necessary, and there was a Secret Snack Stash he kept purely for the Keeper. 

There was actually a lock on it, and the key was kept on the Cheru's person at all times. Apparently, it had been a long-running thing that Ray had taken upon himself after seeing Ryan pass out completely at his work desk late one night. The Georgia man had even fallen out of his chair, smashing his head on the way down on the desk's edge and earning a nice gash close to his hairline. A couple days later and the older man found himself with a near-constant companion, and, as Ray called himself, a "Grounder."

'Gotta make sure he has his five fruits a day,' he jested, earning a playful nudge on the wing from the Keeper.

Of course...it wasn't long before Michael figured out there was a little more than that _going_ on, especially when he saw the two late one evening after editing a particularly satisfying pair of Rage Quits. 

He'd been just leaving the break room when he stole a glance at the AH office. Ray was at his desk, brows furrowed as he worked over an Achievement Guide. Entirely normal, no issue there. 

What was...well...not entirely normal was the drapery he had hanging over him. 

Ryan was leaning slightly over the New Yorker, stubble-laiden chin nudging into the slope of the younger gamer's shoulder. His face was tilted slightly, just enough to let his nose brush over the shell of his ear and his lips ghost over the skin beneath. The Lad's eyes were closing, not entirely focused on the screen. The Jersey boy almost giggled when he saw Ray lean back into Ryan and tilt his head a little so the Georgia man could further press his lips into the skin there. 

A soft moan confirmed it, he was definitely sensitive there.

Michael's smile went from cheeky to lecherous. 

_Oh this was going to be **precious**._

He remained hidden behind the wall for a solid three minutes before he popped back out, just to find Ryan pulling away from Ray. The other was whipping his chair around and grasping at the Georgia man's shirt. Ryan was running his hands down Ray's shoulders, nails digging in just enough to be felt, if Ray's loud intake of breath was anything to go by. The New Yorker was leaning further into the Keeper, the two knocking their foreheads together and rubbing noses. They bumped and brushed together in an intimate dance that had their wings curling into each other and meshing speckled gold with obsidian.

The Cheru's eyes fluttered when Ryan's stubble brushed his own, nose running along the Norm's cheek while his jaw was thoroughly scented. "Ryan," he breathed, and Michael had to stifle the snicker bubbling in his chest. 

It looked like it was getting exciting. Perfect time to interrupt.

"'Eyo!" He called, and the scene in front of him completely stopped. 

A frozen, pink-cheeked Ryan was an arm's length away from a startled, entirely red-faced Ray, Their wings, vibrating with energy, brushed every couple of seconds, shooting away from each other like they were sparks just waiting to ignite. 

It was precious and warm and Michael's wings fluttered with the hum of _need_ that filled the air.

"H-Hey Michael!"

"'Sup Michael?"

Both of them spoke at the same time, the words hurried and spoke in pitches too high to fit their owners. 

Everything was silent for a few moments as Michael's eyes roved back and forth between them. His brows raised and his tongue clicked loudly against the roof of his mouth.

_Comedy Gold, coming up.'_

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth once more and folding his hands behind his back, the Jersey boy tutted, "y'know Ray, I know you're trying to give Ryan his five fruits a day, but you could always give him **that one** at home." 

He turned as Ray's face colored further, the R & R Connection collectively sputtering as Michael turned on his heel and called back, "just sayin'!" He could still hear them sputtering and stammering as he left.

Of course they would get him back a few months later when Gavin plastered an obnoxiously large hickey on his neck while they were all out celebrating post-con season, but hey.

It was all worth it though when he started catching them brushing their hands together and looking at each other like there was nothing more important than the other half of their Connection.

 


	5. Words With The Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy poop I'm sorry this is so late.
> 
> Somehow, I made this chapter into pretty much all fatherly!Ryan/Michael business, but it works so well for me that I felt like letting it take up the whole of the chapter. Originally, there was gonna be some additional stuff, but...well...you'll find out about that in some future chapters :)
> 
> If I made peeps way too OOC, I apologize. But oh lord, this was fun to write.
> 
> Enjoy the Fatherly!Myan fluff :3

Flying was a gift.

Being able to ride updrafts and feel currents pull one’s body around the skies while wings held them aloft and embraced the air was an experience unlike any other. Children gained the hang of flying so quickly, so happily, that many refused to remain bound to the ground for very long, and what about all those games you could have in the sky? At least a dozen times better. Tag was like a major league dodge-ball game, football an almost-Olympic sport.

Flying made almost everything better. Everything from errands to school to hanging with friends. One could escape by taking to the air, and soaring through clouds could be one of the most relaxing of things after an exceptionally long day.

Of course, it also made the tax on the body greater. Keeping wings healthy required exercise, maintenance, and proper diet, and stretching them wasn't always enough (it's often why elderly persons could only really glide or hover, due to the tax on their frail bodies, not to mention what a strong gust of wind could do to more fragile bone structures). Flying often and cardio-based exercises were often the go-to for ensuring healthy wings, as well as anything that worked on spine flexibility. Runners and dancers were often those with the most beautiful of wings, rivaling gemstones in their brilliance, followed closely by gymnasts and yoga practitioners. Other more athletic types followed, naturally, and one could often gauge the level of activity others had based upon their wings. There were always exceptions to the notion, as with anything.

Of course, when one was a certain Michael Jones, flying wasn't exactly an option for him. Any sort of flight would turn him into a crumpled heap of cursing New Jersey boy, or a pancake, depending on where exactly he chose to take off from.

(Hint: Don't go jumping off buildings when you can't fly. Chances of getting up get drastically slimmer with each additional story. Just a mental note.)

So, naturally, he was stuck on the ground for the entirety of his life, watching everyone else play their games in the sky and grow into their wings. He had dreamed of such games, such flights, but again, only dreamed, wings bundled into his back in a feeble attempt at a hug. It brewed jealousy in him of others, and his inability to leave the ground had showed in his wings, which became dull in color and tended to twitch spasmodically, craving flights they couldn’t have. His pinions had also burned and itched like hell at their bases, leading him to lose some of the plumage around them and only serving to make his wings more irritated and twitchy.

They wanted to fly. They just...couldn't.

The need to do something about it bubbled inside him, making the rest of him rather touchy and fidget-prone. He had hated how he constantly felt too tight, bound in his own skin, begging for a freedom that wouldn't come.

He had had enough when his wing shot out without warning and nearly broken itself when it hit a wall at school. Thankfully, no one had been around to see that failure.

Wing throbbing and furious heat boiling in his veins, he had looked to his mother for advice, nearly growling in frustration and fingers itching to play something mindless and numbing. It had been about time for him to upload another video anyways.

His mother, the calm and gentle soul she was, took his wrists in her hands and shook them once, a quiet command to 'settle yourself, Michael Jones, before I make you,' as she stared deep into his eyes and asked him about what brought all this on.

It had taken him a solid fifteen minutes before he could explain, viscous anger crawling through his blood like tar as he told her of his jealousy, of how he wished he could fly, everything he wished he could be and wasn't. Almost sobbing by the end, he had held his head in shame, wishing he hadn't said a single word and pondering biting his own tongue off.

He had felt the grip of his mother's hands slide down to his hands and a brush of basil-scented feathers against his forearms. When he had looked up, she was watching him carefully and quietly chewing on her lip. Her eyes had been full of slowly-softening worry, her grip tightening a little on his larger hands.

"Honey...you should have told me earlier," she had said, standing and brushing some of his unruly hair away from his eyes. Her hands had slid up to his shoulders, gripping them as if she were about to pull him into a hug. He could have used it.

When she had suggested that he take up going dancing instead, he had burst out laughing without thinking, hoping aloud that she didn't mean ballet, because he wasn't fucking wearing a tutu if she paid him a million dollars. No tights for him, no fucking way.

What he didn't realize that a lot of people resorted to dancing when they couldn't get their fill of flight in. While it didn't exactly give one the feeling of flight, it did encourage people to let go, to be free and wild and let their bodies do all the work. Dancing helped to alleviate some of the strain that came with infrequent flying, and was a great bonding experience for flocks. Many tight-knit flocks went out dancing on the weekly, often bonding over the memories of such long nights. Office-based workplaces often encouraged their workers to partake in evenings at dance clubs, and some even had early-release days on Friday to further encourage it.

Yet, Michael had been full of doubt. What good could it have done for him?

Of course, a couple weeks later, when he had come back from yet another evening of loud, bouncing-off-the-walls dancing with his mother (who was one hell of a dancer) with laughter singing in his veins and lungs heaving gleefully, he felt better than he had for months. His pinions didn't itch. The tight coil of energy in his body seemed to have unwound enough to let him breath, and the twitchy feeling that had been so prevalent and torturous before had simmered down to an occasional ruffle of feathers that felt more pleasant than obnoxious. It was freeing.

Now he knew. At least, a little bit.

Months later, his wings would return back to their normal selves, looking beautiful and healthy as ever. The Jersey Boy really did have only his mother to thank for that.

\------------

When he went to go work for Rooster Teeth, he had no idea to broach the subject to Geoff. It wasn't that he was afraid to ask his boss if he (and the rest of the flock) wanted to go out. Or go out dancing, or any of that.

He just wasn't certain how an offer coming from some kid barely meshed into their fabric would sound.

That, and he just didn’t know how to ask.

Keeping himself up for nights mulling over how to ask didn't help, and it showed in his videos. He sounded icy, and his violent outbursts seemed a little more...accident-prone (there was a very likely possibility that an Xbox had been thrown out a window and hacked to pieces that week...). While the difference was barely noticed by the younger boys of AH, it got him a few comments out of Geoff and Jack.

Ryan, however, was a different story.

The group's ever watchful Keeper knew something was up, not voicing anything but maintaining a closer eye on the Sera while they were working; his eyes darted to the other during every Let’s Play, and Ryan kept an eye on the other’s editing. The work from the other seemed less focused, his words biting. It unsettled the Norm, and it only grew as the days passed.

Enough was finally enough for Ryan when one of Michael's own videos ended sour about a week after the whole business began; it started when the Jersey gamer did nothing but scrub his hands over his eyes and mouth and growl out his sighs between clenched teeth. His voice was hoarse from yelling, and when Gavin asked if he needed anything, the Sera just up and left for a solid 15 minutes without saying a single word to the Brit. He simply returned with a large cup of coffee that he cradled to him like it was lifeline; he barely drank it, only really sipping it and letting his eyes fall into its dark depths while everyone else was absorbed into their work and he was half-heartedly listening to his own work droning on in his ears.

Except for the regal Norm watching the proceedings from his cozy little couch work-space. He could practically  _feel_  that something was not right with Michael, and that he needed to help.

About an hour after that, Ryan pulled him aside, nosing into the raised hood of Michael’s sweatshirt and rubbing his hands along where the Sera’s wings met with the flesh of his back. Nearly cooing when the Norm's large hands rubbed into his skin through his hoodie, he didn't even realize that he had another pair of eyes on him, watching him worriedly with his large wings twitching anxiously as he peeked around the corner.

Ryan didn't voice that the other boy was there, only giving Gavin a soft, apologetic glance and mouthing 'he needs a moment.’ The other Sera had nodded slowly, eyes flicking from Ryan to Michael's shuddering back with palpable longing before returning to the office to go inform the head of their flock of the breather the Jersey boy needed.

Sighing deeply, the Georgia man rolled his thumbs along Michael's neck, digging the warm pads of them into the tense peaks of his spine and upper back until the soft shakes from the other eased.

“Shhh,” Ryan cooed, lightly tugging on the hood of the sweatshirt so that it fell back around the boy’s neck. His nose was now able to skim through the curls of the Jersey boy, eyes drooping at the smell of warm, heady heat that clung to his hair.

The boy smelled like…

“Rye? How’s he doin’…?” A voice echoed from down the hallway back by the office.

Ryan looked up from the head of ginger curls, letting out a reassuring chirr when Michael tightened his grip on Ryan’s shirt. The Norm’s gaze flickered briefly back to the boy in his arms, rising when he saw his "Grounder" continuing to cautiously approach them, dark brows drawn and eyes soft as he neared. Ryan threw a warm smile at the other before welcoming him into the embrace with a quiet murmur of ‘he’ll be okay’ and an outstretched hand.

Ryan didn't need to say that the Jersey boy in his arms needed it, needed the other pseudo-Keeper, nor did Ray say that he could see that. Instead, Ryan’s free hand skimmed over Ray’s cheek, knuckles brushing just below his eye as the Cheru stepped closer, his chest now to Michael’s back and his wings curling forwards enough to brush against the Sera’s legs.

He didn't even need to say ‘thank you.’ Ray just knew how thankful he was.

It was what came with being someone else’s Keeper. One just…felt every word like it was their own. Tangible words, ones that could be held and caressed and made to stand out like stars in a moonless sky.

The Puerto Rican's lips quirked up, leaning into Ryan's arm a little as he buried his face into the crook of Michael's neck. The Sera didn't mind the added body, only letting his wings curl into his back to make it more comfortable and let the tender warmth of the two Hunters soak into his bones.

_Oh how Michael could have used this years ago._

As Ryan and Ray sandwiched the Jersey boy between layers of warm, fragrant rose and milky, sweet vanilla, they coaxed him back into himself, back into a lighter state of mind with quiet jokes and delicate draws of the Norm’s fingers through his curly hair. Only when he muttered about it being too hot for a threesome minutes later did they release him, their wings rustling and Ryan letting out a huff. Ray edged over to stand next to the Georgia man, watching the Sera as he straightened himself up and let out a loud, breathy sigh.

“Thanks, guys,” Michael murmured, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Though he still shuddered with every breath, he was no longer on the verge of sobbing. The need to rest, to take a serious breather, was weighing heavily on his mind and sinking into his body. He couldn't rest yet though, especially when Ryan’s voice curled through the oncoming need to sleep.

“What’s been up with you, lately?” Michael was reminded of his mother then, smiling a little as the Norm continued,” I know you've been stressing out over something. Don’t think you can’t hide it from me, kid.” There was a rustle as the Georgia man crossed his arms and flared his wings a tad. The Sera could practically feel the elder man’s worried stare boring into him.

Michael was not getting out of this one.

Hands raking gently through his hair, he let his gaze slide back up to the Norm, a twinge of shame thrumming through him as he saw just how worried the other was. Ray looked worried too, but the Keeper seemed so much like his mother at that moment, all those years ago as she saw his meltdown over not being able to fly.

There was no pent-up aggression here though, no need to rage or rant. Michael simply wanted to slump against the wall, or crash on the couch in the AH office. He felt drained, a headache pulling on his brow and weariness tugging at the corners of his eyes. Drawing a hand over his face, he let his gaze fall down to the tiled floor.

“It’s a bit of a long story, Ryan,” he attempted, wanting to swallow the words up when he saw the Gent raise his brow.

Nope. Definitely not buying it. “I've got time, Michael. We’ll be here all day if we have to.”

“We need lunch at some point though. Can’t eat words; not part of a balanced diet,” Ray squeezed the joke out halfheartedly, rubbing a hand over his arm as it fell flat in the tense air. The Keeper next to him let one corner of his mouth raise a little, just enough to not make It seem quite that way. .

Michael sighed, “Ryan, look, I-“The Norm cleared his throat and that was all it took for the surly gamer to stop.

So much for being stubborn.

“…It’s something I need to talk to Geoff about.” Simple, yet effective…maybe.

Both of Ryan’s brows were raised in interest now. “Oh? Is it home? Do you need to go back? You know it’s not an issue if you need to-“

“It’s not home. It’s…it’s me.”

The Norm squinted at him, seemingly confused as he leaned towards Michael a little. The corners of his lips were dipped in a barely-there frown as he stated, “Michael, if this is your way of telling me you've gotten-“

There was a pause as he heard the soft growl from the younger gamer, a pause that Ray chose to interpret as his cue to leave with a mutter of, “apple a day, Michael, apple a day.” He was headed back towards the office, and by the way he was ruffing his wings, potentially getting ready to head out to a late lunch.

“It’s not-“

“No, Ryan,” Michael growled, “I’m not sick, I’m not suddenly growing tired of Achievement Hunter, I’m fine. I’m 100% a-o-fucking-kay fine with all of that.” He waved his arms in the air for emphasis on the ‘all of that,’ brows tight and lip curled in a snarl.

“Then what is it?! Kid, this is no time to be hiding stuff from me! I’m supposed to keep tabs on you whether you like it or not, so whatever’s bugging you, you better tell me before I drag Geoff out here myself!” Ryan nearly shouted, flaring his wings out with his arms stretched to their full extent. His eyes were icy now, glistening sharply.

It was a bit of an intimidation game, attempting to goad Michael into answering him.

He sunk his teeth into the bait like a starving predator. He just couldn't help it

“You wouldn't understand because you can fucking fly, Ryan!” Michael full-on shouted, curling his hands into fists. “You can escape your problems whenever you fucking want to! You get to experience something wonderful and beautiful, all of you can, while I just sit here wishing I wasn't fucking cursed with…,” he broke off in a loud growl, furiously flapping his small wings,” these!!”

The silence that followed had Michael’s gut twisting and curling in on itself. His eyes burned into Ryan’s for a solid ten seconds before the icy gaze he got in return became too much.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

The boy’s eyes fell to the floor, staring at it as the other gamer let out a soft sigh and approached him. Michael’s body nearly quaked with every step Ryan took towards him, and he still felt the other’s eyes piercing through him. It burned him, and his hands flexed as the urge to run built up in his toes. The sensation climbed up to his knees, limbs twitching slightly as Ryan was suddenly too close.

“Kid.”

Michael nearly shot down the hallway as Ryan’s large hands landed on his shoulders. As soon as he started to move out of the Gent’s grip though, the tips of his fingers curled into his skin, anchoring him and keeping him right where he was. The light protests he gave, in the form of trying to pull out of Ryan’s grip as subtly as possible, got him nowhere.

“Kid.”

“Let me go, Ryan,” Michael muttered, trying a long, slow pull to get out of Ryan’s grip. Still nothing.

“Nope,” Ryan asserted with a heavy pop on the 'p', wings flaring so that his sweet vanilla scent curled all about the younger gamer. “You need to slow down, and take a deep breath. Look at me.”

Their gazes didn't meet for several moments, Michael refusing to lift his head until Ryan asked him again, softer, and with a bit more of a pleading tone. Slowly, almost painfully, he lifted his head to look at the other man. Ryan’s face looked downtrodden, a slight wrinkle to it as the corners of his lips dipped slightly and the corners of his eyes tightened. The Norm’s eyes seemed tired and worried, much like his mother’s had all those years ago. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that there was a soft swirl of basil underneath the warm curl of fresh honey.

It made his heart twist and lower his head a little.

“Hey, eyes up here, and don’t forget the breathing.”

Michael snorted quietly, softening under the overly familiar look being directed towards him and the heavy air that had come between them now. Heavy with tension, no, just...warmth, caring, and a protective instinct roped up with fondness that tied the Norm to the young Sera before him. It was a heady air that Michael drank in gladly, breathing in slowly and allowing himself to calm underneath Ryan’s watchful gaze.

With one last, deep breath, and a brief closing of his eyes, Michael found himself calm enough to say, “I’m good, Rye.”

The words seemingly lifted all the weight off Ryan’s shoulders, the man shaking his head and murmuring, “Sometimes, you just need a moment.” He let out a relieved breath and rubbed his fingers into the exposed skin above the collar of the back of Michael’s shirt. “Michael, you really…you really had me worried.”

As the Keeper bumped and brushed his cheeks and nose into Michael’s hair, the Sera apologized, “I’m sorry Rye, I didn't mean to get so upset at you. It’s…s’hard.”

There was a nod, Ryan’s cheek rubbing back and forth on the top of his head, “I can’t imagine…you know I wouldn't understand. I know I wouldn't be able to understand. I've always had the sky beneath my wings.” Flaring them for emphasis, he continued, “Regardless of that, I’m here to help you as best as I can. If that means that I hold some kind of weekly meeting with you to figure out something-“

“I’m not paying you.”

Ryan’s eyes rolled playfully, “If I can do something to help you out, I’ll do it. More than just the fact that I’m a Keeper. Or that you’re in my flock. You’re my friend. I want to help you. So please,” he nuzzled Michael’s curly hair, “let me help…what can I do?”

The Jersey gamer thought about it for a moment, leaning into Ryan’s chest a bit and letting the other’s wings curl around him. Wrapped up in the warmth of feathers and sugar-sweetness, he told Ryan everything. His beginning, his troubles, how he watched everyone else grow into their wings while he remained bound to the ground. Of how he snapped at his mother and of how he discovered dancing as a way to help. He nearly gushed as he talked of how good it made him feel, how he felt like he was flying…in a way. When he finally finished, he pulled back to gauge Ryan’s reaction, finding the other had been listening intently with his teeth glued to his lower lip and chewing on it thoughtfully.

“So what you’re saying is…you want to ask Geoff if there’s any way we could make it a thing to go out clubbing…essentially?” Ryan inquired.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re lucky. We used to make Saturday our big clubbing night. Lately, we’ve not been able to go so much, but…this might just be the incentive Geoff needs to get us all together again for a night on the town…more consistently, at least.” Ryan thoughtfully scrubbed at his chin. “Yeah…this might just be it.” His eyes lit up a little, a soft smile coming to his face.

Michael’s voice was bright with hope, “think so?”

“Yeah…want me to talk to him about it?”

“I’m not paying for it," he said with a grin.

The soft bop on the head he got was worth it. Especially when, less than a week later, he and the other five members of Achievement Hunter were all whooping and laughing their way into one of the loudest clubs Michael had ever been in, laughing and dancing his way through the night.

Yeah. Worth every imaginary penny.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! :D Please leave any comments you have on this as I would super appreciate it! <3 Thank you!!!


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